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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128356">ease my mind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricciardos/pseuds/ricciardos'>ricciardos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>grow as we go [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Formula 1 RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Charles needs a hug, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, ben platt inspired!, charles is very reflective too, i need a new brand of writing, it's that time of year where i project my own problems onto characters, pierre is a wise man in this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:28:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128356</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricciardos/pseuds/ricciardos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A little imperfection never hurt anyone. </p><p>Charles is still learning that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>grow as we go [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740982</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>ease my mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Charles hates the rain. Absolutely despises it. </p><p> </p><p>He hates the slightly petroleum smell the rain carries from the boats lined up at the waterside, and the way the droplets make his shirt stick to his skin like a cheap glue. He hates the way that his hair gets all matted to his scalp, ruining the hair he spent 20 minutes trying to get right in the morning. </p><p> </p><p>Most of all, he hates the way rain ruins everything Charles has spent his life believing: perfection. </p><p> </p><p>Rain washes paint off freshly painted benches in Jardins des Boulingrins, the coat of painting becoming disgustingly uneven. Rain ruins every attempt at a perfect lap he’s ever tried to do, the skid adding tenths of seconds to the burden already on his shoulders as the <i>prodigio di ferrari</i>. Rain that causes ugly splotches of grey on his freshly bought white sneakers, invisible to all but Charles’s eyes.  </p><p> </p><p>Charles doesn’t need people reminding him that he’s too highly strung. He certainly doesn’t need people reminding him why it’s damaging to be a perfectionist. His job demands perfection, and Charles sees no reason to apologise for it. </p><p> </p><p>So he has a breakdown every once in a while over the inability to shave a single second off the Monza circuit. So he beats himself up after every race that he doesn’t manage to finish on a podium. All part of the job, he reminds himself. </p><p> </p><p>Standing along the sidewalk in Monaco on a late Friday night, Charles has to remind himself that he’s doing this for Pierre. </p><p> </p><p>Pierre, who has long had his hair matted flat to his scalp with the droplets but looking happy all the same. Pierre, who has socks soaked in the water that has begun to flood the streets. Pierre, who looks as if he’s only seen rain for the first time even though Charles knows for a fact it pours in France. </p><p> </p><p>Pierre gives him a look. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i>What the hell are you doing with that umbrella?</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Charles grimaces. </p><p> </p><p>He needs to find it in himself to say no to those brown eyes one day, but apparently this is not one of those days. </p><p> </p><p>Slowly, Charles stretches out his hand, tilting the umbrella a little to reveal his forearm to the grey skies above. His palm faces upwards, catching the droplets that fall. To his surprise, it feels cool and refreshing, the water evaporating as soon as it touches the burning of his skin. Rain has never felt this light -- a far cry from the fat, heavy, inconvenient droplets that used to grace his presence. </p><p> </p><p>Charles gets used to the pitter-patter on his arm. He can feel Pierre’s presence beside him, but he knows Pierre isn’t giving him the same hawk-eyed look that the race engineers give Charles. Pierre has his gaze firmly fixed to the sky, the grey somehow reflecting themselves to be brighter in his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Pierre is giving him space to explore. He is giving him what Charles could never afford by himself in this lifetime, even with the floodgate of opportunity that Ferrari has provided him -- an opportunity to explore and discover, and make mistakes. </p><p> </p><p>Charles slowly brings himself to close the umbrella. </p><p> </p><p>(Charles doesn’t need people reminding him that he’s too highly strung. He certainly doesn’t need people reminding him why it’s damaging to be a perfectionist.) </p><p> </p><p>The droplets of his red umbrella dance in the muted yellow light that casts over this particular quiet street in Monte Carlo, coming alive as he does his best to shake them off before propping the umbrella on a street lamp. </p><p> </p><p>The first drops land on his hair. Then, a few more catch his eyelashes, blurring his vision temporarily. </p><p> </p><p>Beside him, Pierre laughs again. A short, twinkly sound that disappears as quickly as it came, but lingers in Charles’s brain.  </p><p> </p><p>Charles turns to Pierre, who’s arms are wide open as if he’s trying to catch all the rain that’s falling in a single embrace. Charles wants to tell him it’s impossible. He knows Pierre will only shrug and continue to do it anyway. </p><p> </p><p>By now, Charles really has to resist the urge to run his fingers through Pierre’s soaked hair to rearrange it to something a little more presentable. Charles feels his own fingers twitching to tidy his own hair, gather his umbrella, and run back into the safety and comfort of his apartment where he is in control of everything that happens. </p><p> </p><p>Where his helmets of the same dimensions are arranged exactly in rows of 4, and all the chairs at the dining table are pushed in neatly. Where his clothes are colour coordinated and hung up in his wardrobe, and the air conditioner set to 24 degrees. Where he is confident that the sheets of his bed are tucked in at the end, and the three pillows are fluffed.</p><p> </p><p>Yet, he keeps his fingers by his side. </p><p> </p><p>A little imperfection never hurt anyone. </p><p> </p><p>Charles is still learning that. He tastes the word on the tip of his tongue. </p><p> </p><p>Im-per-fec-tion. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i>Imperfezione.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Something the tifosi and Board of Directors do not tolerate. Something he himself has conditioned himself to accept as an unacceptable way of life, all the way back from his karting days where a mistake would cost him the entire race. </p><p> </p><p>Charles wonders whether there is a world where happiness and imperfection can coexist on the same spectrum of life. </p><p> </p><p>Whatever that is, he knows Pierre has found it. </p><p> </p><p>(Pierre, who is now singing the wrong lyrics Don’t Stop Believing so loudly that Charles is confident they will be arrested soon for being a public nuisance. If not for being a public nuisance, it will be for singing that she got on a midnight bus instead of a midnight train.) </p><p> </p><p>Pierre always knew how to find that balance. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re awfully quiet today.” Pierre murmurs. </p><p> </p><p>“Just thinking.” </p><p> </p><p>Charles takes a pause before continuing. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you think you’ve grown?”</p><p> </p><p>“What, in size? Sideways? Because I know for a fact that you ate that last cookie this morning-”</p><p> </p><p>“Grown as in- as in, matured. Learn to see the world from more than just the visor.”</p><p> </p><p>Pierre contemplates his answer for a while. The silence between them is thick, but doesn’t feel awkward as they both fix their gaze on the rain still falling. It’s getting lighter now, Charles notices. </p><p> </p><p>“I think that there’s more to life than racing, yes. If that’s the answer you are looking for.” </p><p> </p><p>Charles doesn’t know how to respond to that. He lives, breathes, racing, waiting for the day where he claims his fourth world championship and-</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t really know what comes after that. </p><p> </p><p>More titles? More championships? When will enough be enough? Who will Charles be without his racing, without the perfect results he’s strived to achieve over the past decade of his life-</p><p> </p><p>Perfection brings him results. Results that follow Charles whenever they print his name on the next motorsport magazine issue, the words “Youngest 4 time world champion?” screaming at him in bright red against the pristine whiteness of the photoshoot backdrop. </p><p> </p><p>“Racing doesn’t really-” Pierre pauses as he chooses his next words carefully. </p><p> </p><p>“-shouldn’t really define you. You are more than that. You’re Charles Leclerc.”</p><p> </p><p>Charles can scarcely believe his ears. </p><p> </p><p>He’s always been Charles Leclerc, <i>prodigio di ferrari</i>.</p><p> </p><p>No one wants just Charles. Charles, with no trophies from the tens of races he’s won. Charles, without the media-winning wink he has perfected over the years of press conference and PR events. Charles, with nothing to his name-</p><p> </p><p>“You’re kind, for starters. You invited those boys to your house to play the simulator with you.” Pierre offers. </p><p> </p><p>(Charles wants to offer a counter-example of every time he hasn’t been kind. Every time he’s accidentally clipped someone on track, or snapped at the interviewer who asked a rude question-)</p><p> </p><p>Pierre doesn’t let him finish. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re hardworking. I know you always finish a set more than your trainer asks you to, even when you’re more exhausted than you’ve ever felt.”</p><p> </p><p>(Charles can think of a million reasons why he does that. Because the previous rep he was slacking, he didn’t keep his back straight enough, or-)</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to deny yourself kindness, Charles. You don’t have to beat yourself up in the hopes that somewhere along the way, perfection has been beaten into you. You are only human.”</p><p> </p><p>Charles feels like all his breath has been knocked out of his lungs. </p><p> </p><p>He used to hate the word human and all its implications. How it so audaciously acted as an excuse for his poor results, his occasional slip up, lack of discipline. </p><p> </p><p>Human. </p><p> </p><p>Hu-man. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i>Umano. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Remember the spectrum? </p><p> </p><p>Charles thinks he’s somewhat found an answer. To balance the imperfections, and find happiness all the same. </p><p> </p><p>Happiness and imperfection are two sides of the same coin. </p><p> </p><p>The coin they call humanity, coated with a layer of kindness. </p><p> </p><p>Coated, Charles notes, on both sides. </p><p> </p><p>Kindness comes even in the hour of imperfection that haunts him. </p><p> </p><p>Kindness comes in the form of Pierre Gasly, reminding him over and over again that it’s okay to make mistakes and to grow, because he is human. </p><p> </p><p>Kindness is Charles finally accepting that he is <i>umano</i>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>apparently i listened to ben platt and it all went downhill from there </p><p>this fic (and soon to be mini-series) means an insane amount to me, and coherent or not i'm relieved to get it off my chest whew (apologies to charles for astro-projecting my feelings onto him) </p><p>kudos and comments always appreciated! i am @sainz-and-gang on tumblr</p></blockquote></div></div>
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